


good days, bad days

by birlcholtz (justwhatialwayswanted)



Series: Frog Ficlets [11]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, i don't know what to call it there's no plot, this is a character study i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwhatialwayswanted/pseuds/birlcholtz
Summary: Anyone who looks at Chowder sees that he is not tired. Anyone who looks at him sees that he is not tired at all.But he is so, so exhausted. And there's nothing he can do except keep going.
Series: Frog Ficlets [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1123719
Comments: 24
Kudos: 58





	good days, bad days

**Author's Note:**

> tw: depression (no suicidal ideation though)

Chowder is familiar with the concept of inertia.

He doesn't like physics, but he passed his freshman year of high school, and so he vaguely understands inertia. Things stay the same, unless something changes them. Some kind of external force. Things in motion remain in motion. Things at rest remain at rest.

He's at rest right now.

He is sitting on the floor of his room, next to his area rug instead of on it, leaning his back against his bed, feet stretched out in front of him, hands loosely wound together in his lap because there is no other place for them to be, and he is slouching forward. His neck will hurt soon. He's not sure if that is enough of an external force to get him to move.

But he's also at rest in a bad way. A way where his mind feels weighed down under a dark, heavy blanket, and he remembers all the things he's supposed to do this weekend, but he can't muster up enough emotion to care. He's at rest because it's a natural result of slowing down under external forces until he stops.

There's just... so  _ much _ to do. He's pushing himself through every day with the idea that tomorrow it will be better, and tomorrow he's confronted with everything he couldn't do the day before. Deadlines have become a balancing act of rotating through getting extensions from each of his professors, citing family issues because he doesn't know how to tell them he's tired. He doesn't know how to communicate it.

Anyone who looks at Chowder sees that he is not tired. He is full of energy and enthusiasm and high on life and finds joy in little things and cheers other people up when they're feeling down. He turns things in on time, pretty much always, and he always gives it his all at practice. He raises his hand in class and has perfect participation grades and smiles through it all. Anyone who looks at him sees that he is not tired at all.

But he is so, so exhausted.

He has problem sets for one class due at the end of the semester, and his professor won't collect them until then, and on the one hand it's saving Chowder because he automatically has something to push back, to think  _ oh, I can just catch up on that next weekend, _ and on the other hand seeing the number of unfinished problem sets stacking up in his to-do list just reminds him that he is not going to get them done. 

He's just not. Not the way things are going now, at least.

So, inertia acts on everything. Chowder's unfinished work will keep growing, bit by bit by bit, and he will keep falling, bit by bit by bit, and he's not sure whether to chug five shots of espresso now and hope it gives him the energy to catch up, even as his body rebels and makes his fingers shake and his stomach flip over and over and over, or save that for the end of the semester because  _ maybe _ things will get better before then and he won't feel as heavy in his bones and  _ maybe _ in April he won't need the caffeine in his system to feel like he can tackle everything he needs to do.

'Next weekend' has become his mantra, and it feels a bit more delusional every time Chowder says it. He'll catch up next weekend. He'll finish more work than he leaves unfinished next weekend. He'll finish half of his work, a third, a quarter,  _ anything, _ and every time it feels just a little further from his grasp.

He knows he'll feel better once the semester is over. He knows his schedule is a lot for one person to take on and he knows he's capable of this balancing act. He knows that his professors like him and they'll give him a bit of a break if he can just... make clear how much he needs it.

But he can't. He can't make himself turn off his happy face when he talks to people. When he tries to tell Cait or his parents or Nursey or Dex how he feels, he tacks on a 'but I'll get through it' instinctively, and then the opportunity is lost.

He will get through it. The semester will end whether Chowder has turned in those problem sets or not. The semester will end and Chowder will probably pass all of his classes even if he feels like he's disappointed his professors. He started out so strong. This is not a question of whether Chowder will get through this. This is a question of whether he can get through it without feeling so stuck. Whether he can get through it and feel okay about it afterwards.

It's scary, to feel so lost while still feeling so tied down. Chowder can't cut himself off and go hike the Appalachian Trail for a year. He has to be here. The team needs their goalie. Chowder needs to pass these classes. But all these  _ things _ drag him down like they've got a grip in the hood of his sweatshirt, and it leaves him feeling like he has a rock in his throat that won't let anything out. Not even tears, or anger, or frustration. He's just... here. 

At rest.

The floorboards aren't exactly comfortable, and Chowder's neck is hurting just like he thought it would, and the light from the window has faded from afternoon into early evening. All of these are external forces. None of them are enough to change him.

Maybe he'll be able to face his work after he eats something.

That's one of his mantras, too, right up there with 'next weekend will be better.' But at least sometimes it's true. It's better than nothing, even if it's not enough.

His phone is in his pocket. He reaches for it, pulls it out, and the movements feel syrupy slow, but he manages to text the team and ask if anyone wants to go to the dining hall for dinner soon. Being around other people will get Chowder up and moving, even if it's just a facade. At least he'll do  _ something. _

He adds two exclamation points, out of habit.

He'll try again after dinner. Even if it feels like swinging an inflatable hammer at a brick wall to knock it down, he'll try again. It's the only thing he can do.


End file.
